


Sense8 AU

by Charlie_Parker



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Helen is the major character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 22:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14680545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie_Parker/pseuds/Charlie_Parker
Summary: A story about John Wick meeting a kindred soul and healing together.





	1. I Want To Hold Your Hand

The day started out as it normally did these last days for John Wick. He had been walking to the hospital with some groceries from around the corner. He’d been out of the life of an assassin for two months now and Helen had been in the hospital for a week. On the way back to the hospital his eyes had briefly met yours. You had looked busy, walking down the street, listening to music when suddenly he heard a few words of it. “So, even though I’m not the one you adore, why not settle for me?” The baritone voice seeped into his consciousness on the lowest volume, your eyes still stuck behind his eyelids. The small smile that crept on to his face would be something he would feel guilty to admit even years later. How could he smile on his way to seeing his dying wife at the hospital? Could your mood have really been so infectious?  
It wasn’t until half an hour later when you were at your temporary home office- AKA the Marriott’s guest lounge, typing away, that you felt a sudden ache in your chest. A culmination of pulse-throttling anxiety and vertigo-inducing despair announced your appearance in a downtown Manhattan hospital. You knew you would lose her soon, you knew you were running out of time to do something, yet you knew you could only continue bearing witness to the decline of her well being like some morbid tourist. “Oh God.” You choked out, just looking at the woman in the hospital bed, eyes peacefully closed.  
You hadn’t even noticed the man sitting at her bedside until he jumped to action. All you had allowed yourself to think was about her. “Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing here?” His strong build seemed toppled like a sturdy building weathered down by centuries of abuse. His raven hair tussled like he had just jumped out of a shower and not bothered to brush it further. His eyes, though sharp was his gaze on you, held a weariness. He’d been crying. Had you seen him before?  
John certainly didn’t know who you were and it would only be later that he realized you were the same girl listening to that song that had been the briefest moment of comfort. You would have answered him had it not been for a woman in a white coat entering the room. “Mr. Wick?” She asked. His eyes tore away from the empty spot where you felt like you were standing  
“Yes?”  
“I’m sorry.” Your heart sunk, eviscerated by the wolves of loss, allowing you only a whimper to escape your lips. How was he keeping such a straight face? The doctor made no sign that she had registered your presence in the room. “While you were gone we had to induce a coma. We couldn’t manage her pain through medication anymore. I’m sorry we didn’t notify you, but it was Mrs. Wick’s choice to leave you unaware.”  
A few more questions were answered- No, she would not wake from the coma. Yes, they were waiting on his approval to pull the plug. Yes, they were sure there was no coming back. The third question, you had asked and the doctor had given Mr. Wick the answer.  
“I’ll give you some time.”  
“Thank you.” You both responded.  
The door clicked shut behind the doctor. Wick’s head hung in resignation and he muttered out a few words “They told me this would happen.”  
“What?” You hesitantly took the seat beside him  
“They told me I might go crazy.”  
“I’m confused about this too.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Less than a few minutes ago I was downtown at the Marriott.”  
John let it drop. He wasn’t about to go investigating. “Could you give me some space?” The grit in his voice compelled you to take his hand. He pulled it away, but his demeanor had not changed. He was ephemerally solemn, hollow.  
“I can’t.” You didn’t know how you had gotten there, to begin with, or if you were even physically there. You felt the need to say goodbye, yet hold on to never say it. And, you had the unshakeable feeling that you were meant to be there for Wick. John feeling all of these things in return, held your hand.  
It had been another two months before you saw Mr. Wick again. Originally, you had thought it was a one-off. Your therapist suggested it may have been an intense hallucination created by work related stress. She suggested a vacation. That’s how you ended up 300 kilometers away from your home in Rome, visiting family in Florence. You’d been watching the Florentine skyline out of the window of your hotel room when you heard his voice behind you “Well, this is nice.”  
Turning around, you saw him. This time with some added bruises and cuts “Christ, what the fuck am I stressed about this time?”  
“Where is this?” He took easy strides as if he wasn’t stabbed and bruised.  
“Florence.”  
“It’s beautiful.”  
“What are you doing here?”  
“I don’t know. I just got home.”  
“What happened to you?” Barely knowing each other’s names, you were touching the side of his face and he was looking at you like you were a bed and he hadn’t slept in years.  
“You should see the other guys.”  
“What’s happening here?” Your voice came out as a whisper, protecting what felt like the sanctity of the moment.  
“I don’t know.”  
“I need to know if you’re real. I can’t…I can’t imagine what would happen if you weren’t.” When the tip of your nose brushed up against his, you felt the sensation he felt from your actions. You felt the longing to be safe, comfortable, and loved.  
“I’ll come find you.”  
“Don’t be ridiculous.”  
“I will. It might take a while but I will find you. Where do you live?”  
“Rome.” You gave him your address then smiled a little “Shouldn’t you ask for my name first?”  
“I guess I should’ve started with that. What’s your name?”  
“Y/N.”  
“Y/N,” he tasted your name in his mouth “I’m John.”  
“Hello, John.” You smiled, two ships at the harbor from the incredible monsoon of loss.  
“Hello, Y/N.” He disappeared the second your lips touched.


	2. You Don't Have To Ask

John woke up with a cold sweat. The bright neon red numbers plastered to his alarm clock read the time of three in the morning. What had he been dreaming? He hadn’t dreamed since Helen. No, it hadn’t been a dream. Something from inside the house must have woke him. Craning his head to look at his dog- Dog, is what he had decided to call him. Why make things more complicated than they had to be? Dog hadn’t woken up. His ear didn’t even flick when John clearly heard someone shuffling around in the kitchen.   
Reaching out of bed as quietly as he could, Dog continuing to sleep soundly, John Wick managed his tired way into his kitchen. He found you there, leaning over the counter. Your hair was a mess, from what he could tell with your head hanging, there were bags under your eyes and your chest heaved raggedly. “Y/N?”  
You looked up “I figured this was your house.”  
“What’s wrong?”  
“I’m...It’s a long story.” You sat down on the counter, allowing for John to move in closer to you. When he rested his hands on your hips, you felt it on your own hands. The look of concern piercing his eyes compelled you to talk.  
“I’m an event planner.”  
“In Rome.”  
“Yes. I’m not physically here with you now, John.” Were you speaking English or was he speaking Italian?  
“Right.”  
“This very...high end client wants me to book them the Coliseum. It’s usually not a problem. I usually handle very fancy customers who want very luxurious locations for their events.”  
“So what’s the problem?”  
“It’s the Coliseum, which means I have to pull some strings with people in the Italian government. It means I have to call in some favors and also...pay back some that I owe.”  
John’s blood boiled. Someone had you under their nail.  
“You could decline the client’s offer.”  
“This isn’t the kind of client you decline and keep your soul attached to your body.”  
John’s hand moved to cup the side of your face. “Tell me what I need to do.” His gruff voice came out determined, menacing. He felt your fear as his own and resented it.  
“There’s nothing you can do, John.” Your smile told him he was sweet for thinking there was anything to be done about your precarious situation. “Unless you somehow have the capabilities of strong-arming the municipality of Rome, I would leave it be.”  
His hand guided your forehead against his, eyes closing “Honey, you have no idea.”

Arriving to Benicio’s office always felt like walking down a hallway adjacent to Pilate’s board room. Your heart hammered in your chest and the way your palms adapted to a sheen layer of sweat made it difficult to focus. You knew how it would work. You would walk into his office, explain the request, and he would make it a very simple exchange. At best, a lap dance for a venue. At worst, your mind was already racing through the completely mortifying possibilities.  
“Stop it.” A voice came up next to you. Stealing a glance up, there was John, dressed in all black.  
“What?” You whispered and looked around. The other municipality workers would find you crazy for talking to your ‘imaginary’ friend.  
“Thinking like that. It’s not gonna happen.”  
“Well, doubtless it will. What else am I going to do? Let Gianna fucking D’Antonio not have a crowning ceremony?” You whispered, self conscious of the name’s attention.  
John stopped and looked at you, putting a hand on your shoulder and walking you back into an unoccupied room “This is for Gianna D’Antonio?”  
“How do you know that name?”  
“Y/N…” How was he supposed to explain to you who he was? You were scared by an Italian mobster heiress. What would you think of him?  
“Are you one of them?”  
“No. It’s been a while. Or, I guess, not really.” He was struggling. You couldn’t be more suspicious than you were now.  
“Who are you?” Those words hit John harder than he imagined they could. How long was he going to run from the fact that he lived in another world?  
“Have you dealt with mobsters? Maybe Russians, more specifically?”  
“Yes, I heard what happened to Iosef. That was-” Your hand clamped over your mouth in surprise. It all made sense. The time in Florence when he was beaten up to every inch of his skin, the pangs of loss you had felt for Helen and later for another. The timeline matched. “You. You’re the Baba Yaga?” Your voice came out quiet, as if he was a taboo.  
When he turned his head to look away, it was as good a confirmation as you could get. “You’re nothing like they say you are.”  
He looked back up at you “You’re not mad?”  
“I’m not exactly in a position to be feeling anything besides anxiety right now. Can you help me get out of this?” Your stresses still lay with the situation at hand, at the center of it was Benicio Gevanni’s office.  
“You don’t have to ask.”


	3. A Dissertation on Pain and its Tight Embrace With Love

Benicio Gevanni was not ready when the event planner walked into his office for the appointment. He wasn’t ready in that when he saw you walk in, you looked more like you were getting ready to do something you needed to hide. The last time he saw you, you hadn’t exactly been in the position to look menacing as you were now. There was a quiet, underlying threat to the way you moved. Could this really be you?  
“Benicio.” Your voice came out colder.  
“Miss Y/N, how may I be of service?”  
“I have an event that needs a venue.”  
“I have a venue that can be rented. What did you have in mind.”  
“The Coliseum.”  
The tea Benicio had been sipping got stuck in his throat. “Oh really? That’s an expensive venue. There’s lots of people interested in it. Why should I let you have it?”  
“I have paper.”  
“Money isn’t going to make the cut this time, Y/N.” His lecherous eyes stared at you despite the ferocity underlying your stare. John was getting mad, but he knew if he acted out too harshly, it could blow the whole plan.  
“I wasn’t talking about money, Benicio.” John’s fingers slide over a piece of paper with a phone number on it and Benicio took it from your hand.  
“What is this?” His mustached face contorted into confusion. This wasn’t how he planned this meeting to go.  
“Dial the number.” Was that a threat or a suggestion?  
Benicio gave you one last look of uncertainty before reaching for the office phone and dialing the number. You were lounged as regally and casually as a feline.  
The line buzzed and next to you, John’s pocket vibrated.  
“Hello?” John picked up, crouched next to you. His retinas were burning the image of Benicio into his mind. If he ever found himself with a gun in Rome, Gevanni would be the first to know.  
“Hello.” Benicio spoke, his tone inquiring “this is-”  
“Benicio Gevanni, I know. Y/N has told me all about you. I suppose I should introduce myself.” You had the most wicked look in your eyes that shared its grace with your lips “My name is John Wick.”  
Benicio looked at you then back to the phone, his palour gone pale. John’s voice crackled over the phone line “Are you still there Mr. Gevanni?”  
“Y-Yes. I am. Miss Y/N gave me this number, I did not mean to bother you.”  
“But I think you did.”  
“No, I-”  
“I think you meant to hurt a very close friend of mine. And I don’t like it when my friends get hurt. Do you understand, Benicio? Or should I remind you what happens to people who fuck with my friends?”  
“No, Joh-”  
“Mr. Wick.”  
“Mr. Wick,” Benicio corrected himself. Was he sweating? “I don’t need reminding.”  
“Then take the cash and give her the venue. Now that I have your phone number, don’t make me call it. Is that clear, Benicio?”  
“Absolutely, Mr. Wick.”  
John’s toned lightened “Good. I’m glad we’re understood. Tell Ms. Y/N I look forward to hearing from her and hope she spends a lovely weekend.”  
John hung up the phone and looked over at you with a small smile, trying to not hope for too much too soon.  
“So? What did he say?” You smiled, twirling a finger through your hair.  
“Mr. Wick hopes you have a lovely weekend.”  
You broke out into a smile and stood “Glad to hear it. Here’s the payment.” You dropped a thick white envelope on to his desk “And here are the dates and times the venue will be used. Please make sure all the requirements for its utilization are met. So good talking to you.” You smiled as you slipped him the paper with the information and walked away, trying to avoid the skip in your step you felt with every pace.   
By the time you reached your car, John had disappeared. You weren’t even given the chance to thank him. It wasn’t until a few days later when you suddenly appeared in a plane seat that you saw him “John?” Was this a private jet?  
“Y/N.” He nodded. He looked nervous. What did he have to say?  
“You look ill.”  
“I’m not.” His head turned to face you and the wash of anxiety overcame you.  
“What’s wrong?” Your voice came out quiety  
“I have a marker. You shouldn’t go to your event tomorrow night. It’s too dangerous.”  
“Who’s your marker?”  
The cocked up eyebrow and silence preceded by him clearing his throat was enough to tell you. Gianna fucking D’Antonio, that’s who.  
“John, you can’t.”  
He continued “There’s going to be a lot of bullets flying. I don’t want you to get hit by one.”  
“I have to go to the event! I’m the event planner!”  
“I know.” John looked at you the same way he looked at Helen, the time you saw with them after she had gone into the coma.  
“Don’t look at me like that.”  
“Like what?” He sighed, already knowing what it felt like to get that stare. He felt your rejection of his view.  
“Like I’m already dead.”  
“For all I know, you aren’t even alive.” He spoke so dismissively that it shocked you. It shocked him too. Did he really think that?  
“Fuck you, Wick. I’m not your fucking sob story. Oh boo fucking hoo, everyone around me dies. I’m John fucking Wick and sometimes when I feel things, I like to make other people suffer for it. I’m such a fucking edgelord that I like to pretend the people I care about aren’t fucking real. But they are real, asshole.” Your outburst made John have to sit uneasily. “I guess you’ll fucking find out if I’m real when one of your stupid bullets end up in my skull.”  
You thought that would be the end of it, sitting back and not facing him. Unfortunately, your timing wasn’t completely perfect. You were still sitting there ten minutes later silently fuming in the awkward silence. “Stop feeling things so I can leave, damn it.” You spoke, annoyed that you couldn’t just conjure yourself away when it pleased you.  
“Do you want me to feel things or not?”  
“Fuck you.”  
“Y/N-”  
“Just shut up and pretend like I’m not here.”  
Thirty minutes later you were still there “Do you have plane sickness?” Your voice came out softer than before when you had been yelling at him for being a drama queen.  
“A little.” He lied. It was a lot. The quesiness in his stomach made yours flip.  
“I wouldn’t have guessed.”  
“I know. Me neither.”  
“Have you never been on a plane before?”  
“This would be the first time I am conscious on a plane, so yes.”  
“Woah, wait, back up. Your first time conscious?”  
“I’m an international hitman, Y/N. Sometimes people like to kidnap me and take me on joyrides in their jets.”  
“Please unpack that for me.”   
“Are you sure?”  
“No, you’re right. You’re about to puke. I shouldn’t bother you.” Ten seconds later he was reaching for the paper bag and heaving into it. Your hand rubbed his back gently “I’m sorry you feel this way. If it’s any consolation, I’m going through the same thing.”  
“It’s not.” He groaned, closing up the bag and accepting the tissue you offered. “I don’t want you to suffer.


End file.
